Men of Terra
by raldbthar
Summary: In the Grim Darkness of the far future, there is only war. With enemies that outnumber and enemies that outgun the Imperium of Man, humanity must rely on warriors without equal. Men and women who refuse to die until their mission is complete. Soldiers who refuse to falter until their goals are met. M for 40k typical violence.


Chaos was raining down from the sky in as literal a sense as possible. The forces of Chaos had come to the fortress world of Jericho Prime. Drop pods containing thousand year old myths burned through the atmosphere, landing in the thickest of defended areas. Madness enducing psykers were flown in and, upon landing, immediately took their own lives, tearing holes in reality itself as the nightmares of the Warp spewed out from them. Men and women, loyal to the God Emperor, fighting as well as any Planetary Defense Force could were being swept aside like children with toy weapons. Such had been the case for over three months and it was only getting worse as the numbers on Jericho thinned while the forces of Chaos continued to be bolstered. When Imperial reinforcements were a week late in their arrival the planetary governor Marcus Vandartus made the only decision he could. He armed the civilians and deployed the Juvenis Legions, teenagers training for life in the Imperial Guard.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Time<strong>**: **0430  
><strong><span>Enemy<span>: **Present-Overwhelming  
><strong><span>Imperial ETA<span>:** Unknown  
><span><strong>Status<strong>**:** Holding x3 months, 1 week, 4 days, 7 hours

"Alright, brats, listen up!" Shouted a crooked nosed, tall, aging man in outdated Imperial Guard fatigues. "The Emperor, in all His wisdom, has decided to test us against the worst this galaxy has to throw at us. In respnose we are throwing everything we have back at them. We've no inkling as to when or even if we'll be getting support from offworld. So we're going to have to kick these heretic scum off our damned world. What are your questions?"

The room was still and quiet. Most of the kids were too afraid to speak, not because of the threat outside, but because this was the first time Drill Sergeant Browns had ever wanted to hear them say anything other than "Yes, Drill Sergeant." Hesitantly the student leader of the platoon raised his hand.

"What is it, Dire?" Brown demanded. Tragonus Dire stood up, parting his feet slightly and snapping his hands against the small of his back.

"Drill Sergeant Browns, have we heard from Imperial Command since the last reported check in?" Dire asked, shuffling slightly under the sergeant's gaze.

"We have." Came the reply. "You can expect that they will be here when they damn well feel like it, apparently. Last word that we got was yesterday saying that they would 'be there soon.' Does that answer your question?"

"Not really, Drill Sergeant, but I take your meaning." The Juvenis Legionnaire replied.

"Good, if there aren't any other questions, double time to the armory. It's time to carry a real weapon."

* * *

><p><span><strong>Time<strong>**: **0845  
><strong><span>Enemy<span>: **Present-Overwhelming  
><strong><span>Imperial ETA<span>:** Unknown  
><span><strong>Status<strong>**:** Holding x3 months, 1 week, 4 days, 11 hours

The Juvenis Legionnaires were exhausted. They had been marching, running and diving for cover going on three hours and the only enemy contact that came to greet them was in the form of Chaos bombardments from their bombers. The platoon had already lost nine members due to shrapnel and four more remained wounded, getting paler by the minute. Browns held up a closed fist, signalling the platoon to halt.

"Drink water, men." He ordered and looked at Tragonus. "Dire, get over here."

"Moving Drill Sergeant." Came the reply as Tragonus ran up to him.

"You understand how the chain of command works, correct?" Browns asked as he peered through a pair of binoculars at a massive staricase that lead almost fifty meters upward to the planet capital's monestary.

"I do, Drill Sergeant." Tragonus replied, taking a sip from his cantine. "Why do you ask?"

"Because you're the student platoon leader." Browns replied, putting the binoculars away and looking back at Tragonus. "You were chosen for it because you have the best reactions under stress. You know what happens if one of these bastards manages to kill me, don't you?"

"I..." Tragonus began, feeling a small quiver a fear and a lump in his throat. "I take charge of the platoon."

"Right. You need to be aware of your responsibilities. All these men are going to be looking to you for guidance. You know what our permanent standing order is and you have a sound mind for tactics, thus far. Don't let them down and don't let yourself down, got it?"

"Got it, Drill Sergant." Tragonus replied, shouldering his rifle.

"Good." Browns replied and turned to the platoon. "Alright men, let's get to the big climb and prepare to defend it!"

* * *

><p><span><strong>Time<strong>**: **1015  
><strong><span>Enemy<span>: **Present-Overwhelming  
><strong><span>Imperial ETA<span>:** Unknown  
><span><strong>Status<strong>**:** Holding x3 months, 1 week, 4 days, 14 hours

The climb had been painfully exhausting and the four wounded Legionnaires had all collapsed and rolled down the stairs, dieing from the sheer volume of impacts on their bodies as they hit eahc stair on the way down. Browns shook his head and spat on the ground, outwardly showing himself as calm and collected, but inwardly screaming at his failure to get these young men ready for something like this. But then again, who could have predicted war would come to Jericho, especially in this manner?

As Browns crested the top, Tragonus at his side, the dismal sight nearly tanked the moral of the both of them. PDF bodies, still warm and bleeding, were strewn all about. A handful of defenders remained behind their heavy weapons, each of them with eyes as dead as the corpses of their friends.

"Who's in charge here?" Browns demanded through heavy breaths as he approached the group.

"I am..." Muttered an aged lieutenant. At least he had appeared to be aged from afar. As Tragonus followed Browns closer he could see that the lieutenant was still quite young, probably not even in his thirties yet, but the massive bags under his eyes, the filth on his uniform and blood smeared across his face gave him the appearance of much older man. "You our reinforcements?"

"That we are, sir." Browns replied. "Sergeant Browns, First Platoon, Echo Company, Second Battalion, Fifty-Fourth Infantry Regiment."

"Isn't that a juvey unit?" The lieutenant asked, his shoulders visibly dropping.

"They may be young, but they're smart." Browns replied, looking back at the platoon as the last of them crested the top of the stiars. "And they're angry."

"I guess that will have to be enough." The lieutenant replied and turned back to his rag tag unit in their defensive positions. Browns did the same with his platoon.

"Alright, men." He called out, getting confused looks from the Legionnaires. He'd never addressed them as anything but children and derogatory names there of since they all fell under his watch. "Bolster these defensive positions. The men and women at your side have already been through a bit of hell so if they say something you best listen. Am I understood?"

"Yes Drill Sergeant." The platoon resounded in unison.

"Good. Hop to it."

* * *

><p><span><strong>Time<strong>**: **1225  
><strong><span>Enemy<span>: **Present-Overwhelming  
><strong><span>Imperial ETA<span>:** Unknown  
><span><strong>Status<strong>**:** Holding x3 months, 1 week, 4 days, 15 hours

Off in the distance Tragonus watched as a buillding began collapsing due to the overwhelming orbital fire. He felt a lump catch in his throat, watching his homeworld slowly burn, but he shook the thoughts out of his head and turned back to the bottom of the stairs, lasgun aimed the length of the superstructure he was atop of.

"What's your marksmanship look like, kid?" The corporal next to him asked, non-challantly.

"Well..." Tragonus replied with a shrug. "Not that it means much compared to real fighting, but I've shot a perfect fifty the last twelve times we went to the range."

"Not bad, kid." The corporal said, patting him on the shoulder. "Just pop the baddies in their ugly faces and we'll all be..."

He didn't finish his statement. A las round punched through the corporal's face, throwing him on his back. Tragonus blinked for a moment as his mind caught up with the rest of the world and he looked down at the stairs. A mass of heretics were beginning to climb up the steps, firing wild shots as they came. The fact that the corporal had been hit was just plain bad luck, if the stray beams ewre anything to go by. Tragonus slung his lasgun over his shoulder and pushed the corporal's body over, taking care to show him some amount of respect as he grabbed the handles at the back of the .50 caliber autocannon. Pressing down on the wing shaped trigger between the handles, Tragonus opened up on the surging heretics.

Chunks of meat and fountains of blood erupted from the mass of hysteric attackers as the massive rounds tore into them, not just from Tragonus but from the other defenders on the heavy weapons around him. The charging mass was ground to a halt and eventually reduced to nothing but a blood soaked, filth ridden pile of meat and bone strewn down the length of the stairs. Though they had been stopped, the last of the PDF, including the lieutenant and four Legionnaires had fallen to stray fire.

"Nice job, Dire." Browns said, setting down a fresh box of ammunition. "But we aren't going to be able to hold like this much longer if they keep attacking in force like that."

"What if we pull the heavy weapons back to the entrance of the monestary?" Tragonus asked, pointing to the many pillared entrance. "Plenty of cover for us but this whole top bit here is an open kill zone. We wouldn't be giving them ground so much as luring them in."

"Attaboy." Browns replied, slapping Tragonus on the back. "Give the order, Dire."

"Yes, Drill Sergeant." Tragonus replied and turned to the platoon. "Alright guys, we're relocating the heavy weapons to the entrance of the monestary. Let's make this quick. Let's get some rifles pointing down the stairs to cover the guys moving the weaponry."

Browns watched with a sad smirk. Part of him was glad to see that even in a warzone the platoon was following orders given. The other part of him was displeased he had to actually see it.

"Platoon Leader!" One of the Legionnaires shouted. "More heretics inbound."

"Pull back to the entrance and find cover." Tragonus replied, ushering the Legionnaires back while Browns watched curiously. "Let them exhaust themselves coming up the stairs and when they crest the top of the hill, we'll pop them like blisters!"

The Legionnaires all did as they were told and took cover behind the pillars, or hastily stacked sand bags and rubble as they awaited their second taste of combat. Tragonus shouldered his rifle, peering down the barrel as the first heretic came over the top. Tragonus squeezed the trigger and the man's brains jumped out of the back of his head. The others around him began firing slow, controlled pairs of shots into the crowding heretics. Many were dropping to the ground and if they weren't killed outright by the las fire then the trampling of their comrades surely finished them.

"Heavies, cut them down!" Tragonus shouted over the din of the firefight. Autocannons and heavy stubbers barked into action and scythed into swarm of tightly packed bodies, making the ground slick. Those that did not fall from wounds slipped on the blood of their vile allies.

"Platoon Leader, I'm dry!" One of the heavy stub gunners called out. "We have anymore belts?"

"Negative, use your las!" Tragonus replied as he continued firing into the surging crowd. There were so many of them dead and yet they weren't stopping. "Drill Sergeant, expert suggestions?"

"Everyone, full auto!" Browns roared. "Cut them down and prepare to fix bayonets!"

* * *

><p><span><strong>Time<strong>**: **1355  
><strong><span>Enemy<span>: **Present-Overwhelming  
><strong><span>Imperial ETA<span>:** Unknown  
><span><strong>Status<strong>**:** Holding x3 months, 1 week, 4 days, 16 hours

The wave had finally been beaten back, but at the cost of over half of the charge packs the Legionnaires had. All of them now had their bayonets affixed to their rifles and Browns pried a chainsword from the dead PDF lieutenants hands. The sound of chanting in some foul tongue echoed from hte void that was the stair case before them.

"Men, things are looking pretty grim right now, I know." Browns said, his voice just barely audible. "But take heart. We serve the Emperor, and if he be for us, who the frag can be against us!?"

The Legionnaires roared as loud and thunderously as they could, fists raising into the air. When the vile chanting came closer to the top of the stairs the Legionnaires quited down and prepared to fight the horde that approached.

The first face to make it to the top was ruined by the searing las round Tragonus fired. Browns took note of his consecutive quick reflexes and made a mental note to send him for grenadier training if they survived the ordeal. The heretics came up, tripping, stumbling over the bodies of their fallen and for every step they took closer to the monestary they lost scores more.

"Grenade out!" Tragonus shouted as he hurled a frag grenade, taken from the corpse of a PDF officer. The grenade flew into the crowd, breaking the nose of one of the surging heretics. As she looked down, Tragonus could see the woman attempt to shout something before fire and concussive force tore her and those around her to pieces.

"Damn nice toss, Dire!" Browns shouted as he revved the chainsword. "Men, get ready!"

The Legionnaires knew that hand to hand combat was innevitable. There were too many heretics, too few of them and too little time. Tragonus continued to fire into the crowd until Browns gave the order. All at once time stood still as the Legionnaires leaped over their emplacements to meet the heretic charge and deny them their momentum. Browns swiped at the first heretic to get close enough and took the top half of the man's head off in a gorey spray. Tragonus speared another heretic, but he continued swinging at the Legionnaire until he squeezed the trigger and the man's insides sprayed out behind him.

All around him Tragonus could see a Legionnaire crushing the skull of a heretic, a friend of his in training being stabbed to death by a pair of heretics, another wrestling one to the ground while his comrade stomped on the heretic's head. Browns was in the thick of it, swinging the chainsword with a complete lack of any style as he hacked and slashed anything that wasn't wearing an Imperial uniform. Tragonus was broken from his fear stricken trance by an attacker leaping on top of him. The man tried to bring a knife down but Tragonus pushed the man's wrist to the side, using his momentum against him. As he tried to bring the weapon back up Tragonus grabbed the collar of the man's filthy shirt and pulled him down, smashing his helmet into the front of the heretic's face. The man howled and dropped the knife, which the young Legionnaire immediately grabbed and buried in his foe's throat.

Tragonus pushed the dying heretic off of him and stood up with the help of another Legionnaire. As he looked around he saw that the heretics were done charging and that only a few remained, but they were literally being beaten to death by the butt of his comrade's weapons.

"Serves them right." Tragonus said, feeling his heart batter against his chest. "Drill Sergeant Browns?"

There was no answer. Tragonus spun around to see where their leader was. Others soon began looking around and Tragonus checked all of their faces. None of them were their Drill Sergeant's. Panic flooded over Tragonus as he frantically searched for a sign of Browns. The sign he found was as unwelcome as the invaders were. Buried under piles of bodies as a chainsword, still resting in a dead hand, the fingers loosened in death. Tragonus grabbed the weapon and looked down at the hand, refusing to lift the corpses off of the man the hand belonged to. So long as he didn't see proof that the Drill Sergeant was dead, then he wasn't. That was his rationale.

"Dire?" One of the Legionnaires asked when he saw the look on Tragonus' face.

"Nothing changes..." He muttered, revving the chainsword and giving it a few swings. It was a lot heavier than he'd thought. "The relics in this monestary belong to the Emperor. We're not letting these heretics touch them."

The Legionnaires nodded and took their defensive positions back up. Many of thme were shaking, some were even allowing tears to flow freely down their face. Tragonus didn't blame them. Drill Sergeant Browns was... not there at the moment. They were scared and had every right to be. Tragonus just offered up a silent prayer to the Emperor that if he was not granted the strength to see the mission through to the end, then he was granted a quick, merciful death.


End file.
